


No, Not My Darling Prince

by lowi



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M, and deeply in love with his boyfriend the lighing guy niall, and harry is liam's stylist, and louis is liam's PA, it's all very silly, they're like third-graders when they're texting, very very silly, zayn is a dancer and liam is a singer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 11:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lowi/pseuds/lowi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternatively "No, It Doesn’t Hurt"</p>
<p>Let’s just say they’re both stubborn. And in the meantime, the rest makes Zayn’s life a lot harder.</p>
<p>In which Zayn hates his friends, Liam is so worried that he doesn’t tell Louis off for threatening the paramedics, and Harry and Niall treat Zayn as their child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No, Not My Darling Prince

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [belalugosisalive](http://www.belalugosisalive.tumblr.com/) for beta-reading!
> 
> Work can also be found at my [tumblr](http://onedinosaurs.tumblr.com/post/38226781933/no-not-my-darling-prince/).
> 
> Disclaimer: This is fiction. Don't own.

”Zayn, I really don’t think you should go out there again,” Harry says and looks up from the tape roll he’s holding, hesitatingly hovering it over Zayn’s outstretched foot instead of putting it in place.

Zayn sighs exaggeratedly and rolls his eyes. “Just put it on. I’ll be fine,” he says sharply, and closes his eyes when the pain strikes again as Harry tenses the tape tightly around his ankle.

“That’s what I mean,” Harry says, sucking his lower lip in and shaking his head slightly. “You’re in too much pain, you know it yourself!”

“For fuck’s sake, Haz. I’m all right.” Zayn stands up, but wobbles a bit and has to grip onto Harry not to fall.

“Your foot isn’t even bearing you. How are you going to dance with it, then?” Harry’s answer is snappy, but his hand is steadily holding Zayn up, and his eyes glint with concern.

“He’s my best friend. I have to do it, Harry. I have to,” Zayn responds quietly, but doesn’t meet Harry’s eyes. “Now, just help me out there, and as soon as I’m on the stage I’ll forget the pain. I’m just being a pussy.”

He takes a few steps towards the door, but then Harry’s hold on his arm becomes firmer. “Zayn. Stay here.”

“What? I said I’m fine. Thank you for helping with my foot, you may go now,” Zayn grumbles. “I’m supposed to be on stage in twenty minutes.”

“You’re not going on that stage.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Zayn,” Harry raises his voice as he suddenly flails his arms. Even in a moment like this, Zayn can’t help but find that movement amusing. “What is wrong with you? If you dance with that foot, you may very well not be able to perform in months, and you know that! What makes you so desperate?”

Zayn takes a deep breath. “Like I said, he’s my best friend. Also, it’s his last concert of this tour. Do you have any idea how much this means for him?”

“Of course I know that. But I wouldn’t do that for _my_ best friend. We’re talking about doing something that would hurt you. It’s not like it’s a matter of life and death. I don’t get it, Zayn.”

“Never mind. Just let me go, Harry.” Zayn stares intently at him, trying to convince Harry best as he can to let him out by fixing him with his huge eyes. He even tries lowering his eyelashes, _knowing_ Harry has a thing for long lashes. But despite all of this, the curly-haired boy doesn’t let go of him.

“Guys?” A blonde head pokes in through the door. “What’s happening?”

“Tell Zayn—,“ Harry begins at the same time as Zayn says, “Could you make Harry—“ but they both pause, staring at each other again.

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Sure, ask Niall what he thinks about this.”

Zayn breathes in through his nose, well aware that Harry thinks Niall will be on his side, which Niall probably will be. But Zayn has to go out on that stage, dammit! He asks, “Nialler, remember that time in New York? When both you and Josh were sick and you still came in to do the lightning work?”

Niall nods with round eyes, while Harry lets out a protesting huff. “That’s not the same thing, Zayn! Sure, Niall had a cold, but he didn’t risk something the way you’re doing by performing tonight! It’s completely different—“

“But it’s not!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, Harry. You can’t decide what I do.” Finally Harry lets go off Zayn’s arm, and Zayn is just about to thank Harry for having understood what he means, at last. But before he has the chance, Harry smirks.

“Oh, watch me.” Harry storms out of the room and past Niall, who eyes Zayn curiously.

“What’s going on really? I didn’t get a thing.”

Zayn’s eyes have widened. “Niall, quick, you gotta stop him,” he says and on one foot he jumps over to Niall and drapes one of his arms around his shoulder.

“From doing what?” Niall asks, as the two of them walk (or in Zayn’s case, limp) down the corridor to follow Harry who works for Liam—the world-famous artist and Zayn’s best friend—as his personal stylist.

“Not letting me perform, for fuck’s sake! Argh, I can’t with everyone today.”

Niall stifles a laugh and Zayn can hear how he tries hard to sound serious when he responds. “Zayn, you can’t even walk. How the hell are you gonna dance?”

Zayn scowls, but is quietly grateful that Niall at least doesn’t stop helping him to follow Harry. Even though the blonde has a different opinion to him, he doesn’t take Zayn’s own choice away—as Harry did. “I have to do it,” he answers through gritted teeth.

As they near Liam’s dressing room, they hear a loud thud and indignant half-whispers. When they round the final corner, they see Harry with his arms crossed and his back against them.

“—so you’re saying that’s more important than—“

He is effectively cut off when the one he is talking to simply ignores him, staring at the newly arrived couple. “Zayn, is it possible for you to dance?” the older male asks, his blue eyes directed straight at Zayn.

“Yes!” Zayn answers at the same time as Harry says, “No!” and Niall goes, “Louis, what time is it?”

Louis stares at them all, and then he laughs loudly. Harry huffs once more, Zayn groans, while Niall joins in the laughter. “Gosh, guys,” Louis says as he has calmed down a bit. “How the hell did _you_ ,” he points at Zayn with a dubious smile, “think you could perform? Niall had to fucking carry you here. And Haz, you really should calm your tits.” He waggles his eyebrows in the direction of Harry, whose cheeks flush even brighter. “And Niall, ‘what time is it’, my goodness. I have no idea how tonight’s show’s going to work, I mean, hell.” 

He laughs again, a bit more hysterically now, and Zayn would have been worried for him—because Louis is the one responsible for keeping everything together during Liam’s show, and while one might normally be amazed at how good he is at his job even though he seems to be the most confused, unorganized person ever, he appears to have completely lost it now, as he looks as though his laughter any second will turn into uncontrolled sobs—but right now Zayn is way too upset with him…with _all_ of them, to be honest!

Suddenly the door swings open. “What’s going on, lads?” Liam stands there, eyes wide-open and Zayn can tell he is already freaking out—which only makes Zayn more determined to perform. 

All four of them start to speak at the same time, and Liam looks at them all, head turning from Harry’s once-again flailing hands to Louis’ wet cheeks (Zayn really hopes it’s only tears from laughing too hard, but he’s quite unable to tell any longer), and then Liam pulls a hand through his hair, which hasn’t yet been styled and lies flat against his head.

“Can everyone please shut it?” he asks loudly and turns to Niall. “What’s going on?”

Niall shrugs and glances quickly at Zayn. “Zayn’s foot has apparently become worse, but he says he can perform.”

“Which is impossible!” Harry interrupts. “Look at him, Liam! He can’t even stand!”

“I can fucking stand, Harry, you don’t know a damned thing. Just give me some painkillers, and I’ll be fine.” The idea just hit him, and Zayn suddenly feels sure it’s going to work. He’s been having problems with his foot since last month, when he fell while jumping during practice. But then it got better…and then worse again. He didn’t tell anyone about it, but kept practicing for Liam’s last concert as it had to be perfect, but then today, after morning practice, it had hurt like hell. So he had asked Harry to tape it together—and now the bastard had betrayed him. But painkillers, it will work, he’s positive.

Liam looks at him for a long time, and then he asks, “You’re sure, Zayn?”

Zayn nods, and next to him Harry punches the wall and storms off again. Liam says quietly, “Looks as though I’ll be doing my hair myself tonight.”

-o-

The lights are blinding, and Zayn has never really felt this way while dancing before. He feels so free, he feels so alive. It’s as though he could jump across the stage and then soar up to the ceiling, if he’d want to.

He thinks of how Niall’s up in that booth, directing those spotlights at him, and then at Liam. Liam, who’s in front of him, guitar strapped on, and microphone almost resting against his moving lips. 

It’s this very song it was all about. It’s where Zayn’s dancing alone to Liam’s singing— _one single dancer, owning the stage and adding another dimension to the song_ —as the choreographer Andy had proposed to Liam, who had accepted it without hesitation, and had asked for the dancer to be specifically Zayn.

So of course he had had to perform. As if a stupid foot would have been able to stop him, Zayn blurrily thinks.

Then, suddenly, he realizes it has become very quiet, and the lights seem oddly different. He wonders if he has missed his cue to leave the stage, or if something else has happened. Then he sees Liam in front of him, and he gets that feeling again, that he’s not quite in his body. But Liam’s eyes are sparkling so it doesn’t really matter.

A hand graces his side and there’s a voice that he can’t decipher, but then Liam speaks. “How much did you give him? He’s completely out of it, oh God.”

Another voice, which Zayn recognizes very well, but he can’t still pinpoint who it belongs to, says, “We gave him nothing, he took them himself. But we’ll take care of this; you need to go out there, right now, Liam.”

And then the hand on Zayn’s back disappears and the absence of it is horrible. He misses it so much, and he wonders solemnly if it is because it was Liam’s.

Liam. The name bounces around in Zayn’s head like a tiny, fluffy ball, and repeating it is so wonderful that he keeps doing it, Liam, Liam, Liam.

He wishes Liam had been there, too, so Zayn could have watched him and the way his eyes crinkle when he laughs. But he isn’t, so Zayn has to close his eyes and think nothing but Liam, Liam, Liam.

-o-

Liam doesn’t understand how he managed to hold himself together. How he could go out there and do the extra-number without his voice breaking even once. Yet somehow he did it, and now he’s finished and supposed to shake hands with all kinds of people, managers and arrangers and other people who he really doesn’t know but they seem to know him perfectly fine, and he just can’t, he has to get away from there _now_.

Nonetheless he keeps smiling, and again, he has no idea how he does it, but they don’t seem to think anything’s wrong either, so he just beams and they smile back and tell him how amazing he was, and Liam thanks them.

Then, suddenly, there’s a familiar hand on his back and Louis is standing there, gripping tightly around his waist as though he’s trying to steal him away. “Sorry, sir, I need to borrow Liam for a while,” he says, flashing a charming grin at the man Liam was discussing Swedish politics with (however they ended up on that topic was beyond Liam, as well as how it was possible for him to _know_ so much about it) and drags Liam away before he even has had time to bid the man a good night.

“Sorry I didn’t come sooner,” Louis states and Liam puts a hand on the one Louis still has around his waist, because if Louis let go, Liam isn’t sure he would be able to walk one step further.

“How is he?” Liam questions and scares himself from the way his voice is so loud. But maybe it’s okay that that’s what scares him, because then he isn’t scared of the way Zayn’s eyes were so dazed when Liam left him before the last song, and how it had looked when he had fallen to the ground in the middle of the song and stayed so very still there, so still that Liam had thought it was part of the performance, some kind of new, last-minute change Zayn had done to his choreography, so still that Liam had finished the song and first when the lights had been turned off he had walked over to Zayn.

Louis stares straight ahead as they dash down the corridor and it all looks the same to Liam, so when Louis doesn’t answer he asks, in an even louder voice, “Are you sure we’re going in the right direction?”

Slowly Louis turns his head and meets his eyes and there’s a little bit of the normal Louis there, the one with the are-you-kidding-me look, but there’s also that Louis that only shows up sometimes, that Louis that hugs one until the stage fright is gone, that deals with the paparazzi and the crazy fans—and Liam doesn’t want to see _that_ Louis, so he just speeds up their pace.

They arrive at a door, which is left ajar, and Liam doesn’t really want to walk inside, because _isn’t this all his fault?_

It’s a very small room, which Liam doesn’t quite recognize. Though the only thing he really sees is Zayn, whose eyes are closed, and Niall who speaks frantically into a phone, and Harry, who sits on a chair and stares—mouth open—at Zayn, without even blinking, so Liam could have been in this room a million times before and still not recognized it.

“What—,“ Liam begins and doesn’t move an inch from where he’s standing in the doorway.

“Just a while after you left, he passed out,” Louis says and pushes Liam so that he takes one step forward and then one more and suddenly he’s sitting on a chair next to Harry and Louis cries angrily at the curly-haired boy, “I told you that you had to keep checking his pulse, don’t just sit there!”

Harry doesn’t answer, but Liam stares at the veins in Zayn’s neck and they’re moving, ever so slightly, and Liam lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Niall shuts his phone.

“They’re coming as fast as they can,” he says and looks as though he wants to punch someone or maybe he just wants to hug someone, it’s really hard to discern, so Liam merely swallows and looks at Zayn again.

“Did he really take that many?” Liam asks, or he’s whispering it, rather, or shouting again, he can’t tell.

“I don’t know, he must have. Or it’s the pain or something, I don’t know,” Niall answers whilst Louis just licks his lips and holds Zayn’s wrist between his fingers.

Harry still isn’t moving, and Liam gets an urge to push him off his chair to gain some sort of a reaction. He stands up, instead, and then he sits down again. Zayn’s eyelids are suddenly fluttering and Liam stands up again, quickly, to see better how the eyelashes touches Zayn’s cheeks ever so softly, and then how he mumbles “Amfery sar liamf,” and Liam has absolutely no idea what it means, but he senses his mouth is curling upwards in a smile. Louis lets out one of the largest breaths and swats Zayn on the head lightly and Liam can’t really tell if Louis is laughing or crying, but Harry definitely is laughing, a bit hysterical, to be exact. Niall slumps down on the floor muttering curse words but smiles, too.

And then they _all_ go away in the ambulance with him, even though the drivers frown at them (but as Louis so raptly puts it, “Gentlemen, this is Liam Payne and while he never would wish to pain anyone he sure has the money to make someone else do it so you better let us in in that fucking ambulance” which makes the paramedics open the doors rather quickly and also causes a blush to rapidly spread on Liam’s cheeks but he doesn’t mind very much since Zayn’s eyes are fluttering open every now and then) and then when Zayn is rolled into a room and the doctor says to them that they don’t have to worry, it’s just a gastric lavage which is completely _nothing_ , and Liam has shaken her hand far too many times—at least Niall says so in the taxi on their way back—, then Liam finally feels as though he can breathe completely normally again.

-o-

“So, Mr Malik. Everything seems to be as it should, which means you may leave,” the doctor says to Zayn, who has to admit he still feels a bit as though he wants to throw up—but if she says he’s fine he won’t doubt her…no, if they don’t need to keep him anymore he’ll happily leave.

“Thank you,” he answers when she stands up to leave, smiling at him. He realizes he can’t even remember her name, but on the other hand, as he has heard from Niall every single time the blonde has called him since he woke up—which is more than once every hour—Zayn was completely out of it when he arrived, and it was only early this morning he woke up from the anaesthesia he had been put in, and then he only cared about not vomiting all over the place or falling back asleep so he couldn’t really be bothered to remember what she was called.

As he sits up carefully, since his head is spinning madly, he checks his phone again, but there is still nothing else than another missed call from Niall as well as a text ( _u let out yet? Has Haz calld? Hes gon pick u up but pls don’t throw up in m car k?xx_ ) and Zayn knows it shouldn’t bother him that no one else has tried to get in touch with him since it’s post-concert day, which means that Louis is bound to be buried in work and Liam is guaranteed to have passed out from tiredness, but he still _is_ a bit bothered. Then his phone lights up yet again and it’s another text from Niall saying _Oh almst forgot Li n Lou gives u ther love but ther stck ina meetin n pls tell m if Haz calld u or imma yell at im xx_ and Zayn smiles as he shrugs on his jacket with one hand, the other composing a text back.

Just when he’s about to press “send” and tell Niall _thx ur the best, man, tell them thanks :) and no ur boyfriend hasn’t called me pls yell at him lots and lots xoxo_ the screen flashes with Harry’s face and he answers it without even thinking about it.

“I’m just outside,” Harry says after Zayn’s greeted him and Zayn thanks him but can’t help but wonder if the guy is a little bit upset with him because he can’t picture Harry using that voice while smiling his dimple-smile. Which usually is glued onto Harry’s face.

He grabs his bag, however, and limps away on the crutches he’s been assigned to use until his foot is all right. Since his head is spinning he’s taking it extremely slowly, and by the time he enters the elevator to take him to the ground floor, he already hates that he can’t walk without support.

Outside, the sky is grey, but the sun must be somewhere behind the clouds, because it’s still so bright that Zayn has to shield his eyes as he spies for Niall’s car. He spots it quickly and crawls in; a bit happy that he hadn’t had any stuff with him to the hospital because Niall’s car is always crammed with garbage and… _things_ , everything from jumpers belonging to who-knows and old cartoons with “important things” to wires and newspapers from years ago.

“Hi,” Harry greets, starting the engine the moment Zayn has closed the door. “How’re you feeling?” he asks as they drive away.

“A bit sick, to be honest,” Zayn answers truthfully, fiddling with the crutches and hating them again because he doesn’t know where to put them. “But I promised Niall not to throw up in his car, so it should be fine,” he finishes, turning to Harry in the hope that a smile will appear.

But it doesn’t. Harry just licks his lips and says nothing.

“You mad at me?” Zayn asks, his fingers tapping against his trouser-clad leg. He hadn’t realized until the moment he was leaving his hospital-room that he still had his dancing-clothes on; yet, as soon as he had spotted Louis’ sweater hanging on a chair in his room, he had quickly pulled it on for with that on top of his tank-top Zayn had thought he would neither freeze nor look completely inept.

Harry looks the other way—maybe because he is going to make a left-turn, or because he doesn’t want to see Zayn. It’s hard to tell. “A bit.”

“Sorry,” Zayn says quietly. “Really.” He doesn’t know how to apologize, because he still hasn’t figured out what made him so defiant on performing, because last night one tiny part of him _had to_ have known that he couldn’t do it with the way his foot had felt. “I was just…”

“What were you, Zayn?” Harry suddenly asks loudly. “A selfish prick, maybe?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that,” Zayn protests. “Sure, I was a bit stupid, but _selfish_ …”

“You were selfish. You fucking propped yourself full with painkillers, you could have died, Zayn. Jesus.”

Zayn opens his mouth but no words come out.

Harry brakes as they arrive at a red light, and turns to look at Zayn, his eyes wide. “Promise me you’ll never do that again.”

“I—“

“Promise me, all right?”

Zayn looks the other way for one second, and then he faces Harry again. “I promise,” he says.

Harry smiles and Zayn is more than happy to see the dimples appear on his cheeks, though they aren’t as deep as they usually are. They quickly disappear though when the brunette flips off the car that drives past them honking, apparently having grown tired of waiting behind them since Harry had completely missed the light turning green. “Brilliant,” Harry says as they’ve sped up again. “Now that that’s dealt with we’ve got to decide what to do with you and Liam.”

“What?” Zayn asks incredulously.

“You should have heard yourself. You’ve fallen really deeply for Liam and I’m going to sort it out for you,” Harry says, smiling broadly.

Without saying a word Zayn just stares at him, until his phone starts buzzing in his pocket. He quickly hauls it up, hoping it’ll be a sane person so his world can make at least some sense.

“Yeah?”

Niall’s voice hits him like a torrent. “Hasn’t Harry picked you up yet? I’ll kill him, I swear I told him he had to be there at eleven—“

“He has,” Zayn interrupts. “We’re driving right now.”

Niall becomes completely quiet for a while, but then goes, “Oh, good. Eh, well…then everything’s fine, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees. Except for it’s not, because Harry is smirking next to him, like a lazy cat or something, and Zayn desperately needs a smoke right now, because what Harry said made _no sense_.

“Don’t smoke in my car!” Niall suddenly shouts, and Zayn wonders if Niall can read minds, or if Zayn’s just a very predictable person.

“I wasn’t going to,” he protests feebly, Harry laughing next to him.

“Yeah, right, you weren’t going to. Anyway, put me on speaker, will you?” Niall says quickly, and Zayn can easily picture the way the blonde is rolling his eyes.

“Hi babe,” Harry says happily as soon as the call is on speaker and Harry has understood that Niall can hear him. “Don’t worry, I’ve picked Zayn up.”

“Great,” Niall says, and Zayn rolls his eyes, because they really are treating him like a kid right now.

“I’m actually right here, guys, and I am conscious,” he says, but neither of them seem to listen to him, for Niall’s voice goes on about how Harry is not to let Zayn smoke in the car, but how Zayn will have to smoke soon anyway, so they probably shouldn’t drive all the way home before Zayn’s got at least two quick drags.

“Don’t worry, babe, we’re gonna stop soon,” Harry says, and then turns over to Zayn who begins to ask how that is possible when they are still so far from his flat, asking, “You want to speak more to Ni, or should we hang up?”

“Eh,” Zayn just answers, and when Niall and Harry has exchanged their “love you”’s and “see you tonight”’s, he just pushes the red button on his phone without even saying anything.

Then Harry pulls over and stops the engine, and says, “Now, back on track. Let’s make a how-to-get-into-Liam’s-pants plan over coffee.”

-o-

Zayn is doing his best to ignore Harry—three hours in a coffee shop with him talking non-stop about Zayn’s assumed crush on Liam and how it’s going to become a real thing if he follows Harry’s advice (“and what do you mean my advice is crappy? I’ll throw this napkin in your face if you say that again”) has led him to just humming along and not paying Harry any attention, and instead sending more and more desperate texts to Louis.

His first had sounded something like “ _Have u finished work? Can u come and pick me up at Starbucks by the station? Haz is making no sense and I want 2 go home xx_ ” but now he’s at the point where Harry is describing a “delicate _and_ intricate” plan involving birthday cake and lots and lots of whipped cream so the last text is more like, “ _srsly get me outta here asap cant deal with it asjdakh hes saying i should lic cream from liams chest man I fking ned u heeeeelp_ ”.

But there hasn’t been one single response yet, so Zayn is getting more and more frantic, and maybe he’s starting to listen more and more to Harry to because did the guy just mention something about Zayn’s teeth and Liam’s _underpants_?

“Seriously, Haz,” Zayn says, and suddenly something in Harry’s eyes change.

“No, seriously, _Zayn_ ,” he confronts slowly. “You didn’t see yourself last night. I’ve suspected this a long time, because the way you look at Liam isn’t how, say, I look at Louis.”

“What,” Zayn says flatly, just to have something to say, anything at all.

“You want him, for Christ’s sake. You bloody moaned his name when you were high on those pills after he’d dragged you off the stage.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. You are really into him…not that I blame you.” Harry smiles, and nudges Zayn’s foot (the one that isn’t in bandage, thankfully). “Seriously, you do like him.”

“I don’t,” Zayn denies again and rises from his chair so quickly he forgets that he can’t use his left foot, so he has to grab hold on the table not to fall over. Harry grabs his arm to support him, but as soon as Zayn has seized his crutch he shakes off Harry’s arm and hurries (which means not fast at all, unfortunately) out of the café.

Just before he puts his phone in his back pocket he sees a text from Louis saying, “ _BWAHAHAHAHA I knew it. Not helping you out this time bb im on the other side :) x_ ”.

Zayn hates his friends.

-o-

“You really haven’t heard anything from him?” Liam asks for what has to be the fiftieth time, if one’s judging from the look on Louis’ face.

“No, I’ve told you. He hasn’t answered any of my texts since Sunday.” Louis looks up from his computer where he’s mailing Liam’s producer. “You should try and call him, though.”

“I have,” Liam answers, rising from the too-comfortable chair in Louis’ office, the one he has taken thousands of naps in, eaten millions of Louis’ homemade sandwiches in, and sat in playing with his phone, twitter and instagram, for billions of hours.

“How many times?”

“Two times today,” Liam answers, scrolling through the list of made calls on his phone, “five yesterday, and three the day before that. And twice that day he got home from hospital.”

Louis throws his wireless mouse straight at Liam’s head, and then it falls down to the ground with a pathetic little thud.

“Why did you do that for?” Liam asks, rubbing his forehead. Louis looks exasperatedly at him, so Liam completely forgets about being upset—and he’s also quite used to Louis’ physical attacks.

“Well, for the record, you told me—”—he pauses to glance down at a nonexistent clock—“—for approximately three minutes ago, that, ‘no, I’m not in love with Zayn, stupid, I’m just caring about his wellbeing.’ And well, I do that, too. But I don’t call him five times a day just because he’s sulking and refuses to pick up his phone!”

Liam crosses his arms across his chest. “But you’re a bad friend, and I’m a good one.”

“No, I’m an excellent friend—you’re a love-struck puppy who’s pining after a twat.”

“He’s not a twat!”

“See, that’s exactly what I mean! You’re calling me stupid and idiot on a regular basis but I’m not even allowed to call your darling prince a ‘twat’!”

“He’s not my prince! And when I call you that it’s endearingly!”

“Endearingly, my arse… As if Zayn doesn’t deserve to be called a twat when he doesn’t answer your calls.”

“There might actually be a reason for it!” A thought suddenly hits Liam. “…Oh God, what if he’s sick? Has _anyone_ heard _anything_ from him? Maybe there were complications, or…”

“Liam, calm down.” Louis walks over to Liam and grabs him around his wrists.

“No, Lou, seriously! We have to go there right now to make sure everything’s okay, this very second, even!”

“We can’t just leave like that. I have work to do, and you have meetings to attend. Zayn is fine, I promise.”

Liam’s head is spinning a bit, and he just sinks back in the chair, Louis following his suit so that the two of them are just a huddle of limbs there. “But what if…?” he mumbles into Louis’ hair.

“Look, I’ll call Niall, and he can go there and make sure nothing’s wrong. That okay, babe?” Louis whispers, and Liam nods against his neck, closing his eyes and feeling so lucky Louis is his P.A., because he’s pretty sure no one else would put up with him this way. But on other days, he wonders if it isn’t partly Louis’ (as well as Harry’s, Niall’s, Andy’s and Zayn’s) fault that things are the way they are in his life.

-o-

It’s the knocking on Zayn’s door what he’s been ignoring for five minutes now, and he’s pretty certain he’ll manage not to give in for another five minutes—which should be enough for the person there to realize Zayn’s “not home” and leave. If it doesn’t, well, then it has to be some lunatic.

But then there’s a key rattling and the door swings open and Zayn groans into his pillow.

“Oi, are you dead?” Niall’s voice echoes through the tiny apartment, far too loud, and Zayn grunts again.

“Remind me again why you have a key to my apartment.”

Niall stops dead in his track—which is two steps into the room (because Zayn’s apartment is minimal, only one room and his bed is taking up most of the place what with it being right in the middle and just in front of the door). “I don’t know,” he finally says, and looks thoroughly confused. “I don’t remember when you gave it to me.”

“Me neither,” Zayn huffs, as he pulls his cover on top of himself. He knows Niall won’t take a hint and leave, so he decides he’ll hide under there and _pretend_ he’s alone, while Niall ravages his fridge or something.

“Anyway,” Niall says, plunking down onto Zayn’s mattress and pulling the cover off Zayn. “Louis told me I had to go here and make sure you weren’t dead. Are you dead, mate?” he asks, poking Zayn’s chest.

“You asked that when you came here,” Zayn responds. So far his plan of pretending he’s left alone is going swimmingly.

“Yeah, but you didn’t answer.”

“Do I seem dead?”

“Not much. But Liam was apparently freaking out so I wanted to be completely sure. Man, why aren’t you answering his calls?”

“Why are you looking at my phone?” Zayn asks, sitting up as he notices the blonde’s eyes being focused on the little screen. “And why was he freaking out? And give that back!”

Niall rises as Zayn tries to pounce forward to grab the phone, which causes them both to stumble down to the floor entangled in each other’s limbs.

“Ouch!” Zayn cries out when Niall puts a hand on his bad foot, in his struggle to manage to rise without letting the clutch on the phone go.

“Oh, Jesus. I’m so sorry, Zayn,” Niall hurries as soon as he has hauled Zayn up from the floor. Zayn’s teeth grit because, hell, it _hurts_.

“It’s okay,” he answers at last.

Niall looks questioningly at him, and then he laughs. “Stop pulling those brave faces all the time. Last time you had to get your stomach pumped because of it. Just admit that it fucking hurts. Show some emotions!” He finishes by punching Zayn lightly at the arm, and Zayn pouts.

“So now you’re going to hit me until I admit it hurts?” he asks, shaking his head.

Niall grins. “That a kink of yours, maybe?” he questions, waggling his eyebrows.

Zayn throws himself back on the bed. “Just stop, Niall. I don’t even want to go there.”

“Oh, your kinks are _that_ out there? So that they can’t even be mentioned in everyday-conversation?”

“This stopped being everyday-conversation the moment you mentioned kinks.”

Niall laughs loudly. “Well, anyway! You really should at least send a text to Liam, because he’s afraid you’re dead and that it’s his fault. Don’t ask me how those two things are connected.”

“I’ll do that as soon as you’ve left, all right?” Zayn asks, smiling his best glittering-eyes smile, so that Niall will be happy and leave.

“No, that won’t do!” Niall answers. Zayn probably already knew it wouldn’t work. “I want to see you sending it. You can’t avoid him—besides, isn’t that rather counter-productive of you? I mean, if you want to get into his pants, do you think not picking up his calls works? The guy’s _chasing_ you!”

“Niall! I don’t want that!”

“Oh, you do, don’t even try.” Niall’s eyes suddenly lights up, and the moment he’s taken two steps backwards Zayn realizes Niall is still having his phone. “Oh, let me see…”

“You are _not_ texting him,” Zayn cries, trying to drag out his crutches from under the bed.

“Who said anything about ‘texting’?” Niall asks, already out on Zayn’s minimal balcony, as that’s the furthest away he can get from Zayn without actually leaving the apartment. “This is top-notch sexting, babe.”

“Don’t you dare!” Zayn growls, but by the time he’s hopped out to Niall on one foot without his crutches (because he could only find one of them and he was getting _desperate_ when he realized that the one he did find was so far in under the bed that he would have to crawl there to retrieve it) and snatched the phone out of the blonde’s hand, the screen says “Message Sent” and Niall is doubling over from laughter.

“Remind me again why I’m friends with you,” Zayn says with a sigh, and Niall puts an arm around his shoulder.

“When you and Liam have a lot of kids with plaid shirts and hipster glasses you’ll remember just fine,” he says and Zayn just leans his forehead against the side of Niall’s head and closes his eyes.

-o-

“The fuck, Liam?” Andy asks from where he’s sprawled out over Liam’s couch. Liam just got home from work, and he still hasn’t heard anything from Zayn, nor from Niall, so he’s in the middle of making tea for him and Andy because making tea _helps_ and so does Andy. At least sometimes.

“What?”

“This text, from Zayn,” Andy answers and Liam only hears “Zayn” because the water is boiling so much but _Zayn_ , so he all but runs out to the living room.

“Is he okay?” Liam asks, and tries to grab the phone from Andy, but doesn’t quite manage to, because Andy is laughing so hard his entire body is shaking, and his arms are flying all about.

 “He’s more than okay, if you’re asking me, like, what the fuck even is this?”

“Give it to me,” Liam says, because why on earth is Andy laughing like that, and is it a good sign, though it has to be, right, because Andy sure couldn’t be _laughing_ if Zayn wasn’t well, could he now?

He finally gets hold of the phone, and when he has finished reading the short text from Zayn he’s probably blushing rather explicitly, because Andy starts laughing even more, but Liam doesn’t really know what else to do.

-o-

_ I didnt write that liam! it was niall who stole my phone sorry. Tho wanted to say im fine. U? _

_ Good ur fineeee I worried bout u. n hahahha scared meeee. Im fine also but bit tired _

_ Yes no need to worry! Sorry and sorry ur tired also :( _

_ But I didddd anywy so im very happy ur fine!!! Don be sorry :) _

_ Okay thx im happy too! Okay wont be :)) _

-o-

Right now, Zayn wants two things. He wants to kill someone, and he wants Harry to pick up his goddamned phone—especially since Harry is on the list of potential murder victims.

“Yeah?” The familiar drawl finally answers.

“You want to know what you’ve done?” Zayn asks without waiting for the usual greeting-phrases.

“What?”

“You’ve ruined _everything_.”

“Hang on, just got to—“ Harry utters, and then his voice disappears and Zayn can hear how Harry laughs and how he’s saying _not now, Ni_ and he hears Niall’s voice but he can’t discern what he’s saying, but maybe that’s a good thing, because Harry starts to giggle. “Sorry, what were you saying?” Harry finally asks.

“That you’ve ruined everything,” Zayn repeats shortly.

“What?”

“Because now Liam probably thinks that I’m interested in him, because the text conversation I just had with him was the most awkward I’ve ever had in my whole life, and he’ll probably hate me forever now and nothing will ever be the same between us and it’s entirely your fault.”

Harry is quiet for a long time. When Zayn stops to take a breath and is just about to repeat it all over again, Harry asks, “How is it _my_ fault?”

“Well, yours and Niall’s. And Louis’, I suppose.”

“Niall,” Harry says and Zayn can see it clearly, how Niall looks up from whatever part of Harry’s body he’s mutilating. “Zayn says it’s _our_ fault that he’s an idiot.”

“I didn’t say that,” Zayn protests, but no one hears him since Niall’s laughter is almost too loud for _Zayn_ , and he isn’t even there, in the same room with him.

“Just ask him out for dinner or something,” Harry says lightly when Niall has stopped laughing.

“But that’s not…helping anything!”

“It’s helping everything, Zayn,” Harry corrects, and this time his voice actually sounds like he’s giving Zayn his undivided attention. “Seriously. Try and let go, all right? Just…you’d look good together. You’d be good for each other.”

“Spare me the hipster shit, Styles,” Zayn grumbles and hangs up, when he hears how Harry’s laughter bubbles in his throat.

Then Zayn sits down on his balcony and smokes five cigarettes before he sends a text to Liam asking him out for dinner tomorrow night, because maybe this actually is a battle he can’t win. And when he looks at Liam’s profile picture in his contacts at the same time as he draws monsters on his bandaged foot with a pen he found there on the balcony, in a pile with old comics and notes and CDs, he wonders if he truly wants to win that battle, or if maybe he’s just been fighting it for the sake of it.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~i should i make a sequel shouldn't i~~


End file.
